


Wins and Losses

by Yessydo



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Daddy Issues, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yessydo/pseuds/Yessydo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy has a type.</p>
<p>A take on Eggsy and Harry's relationship over the course of the movie. Can be read as a prequel/companion to "Lots of Lost Time" or as a standalone piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wins and Losses

Eggsy was smart enough to know that he had a textbook and well-founded case of daddy issues. How could he not? The mysterious and sudden death of his hero father, compounded by his mother’s unfortunate luck with finding new prospective father figures for their household had caused him to develop something of a type. They spoke like Rex Harrison and dressed like Cary Grant. If they had a touch of Richard Burton around the temples, all the better. They were easy enough to find, skulking around the infamous Smith Street corner, eyes darting this way and that until one of the boys took pity on their poor repressed souls. Eggsy had a special smile for them: a knowing smirk he let them glimpse from beneath batted eyelashes. They always snapped him up, stammering out clumsy euphemisms, asking if he’d show them the way to get to such-and-such a street.

“Yeah, alright,” He’d reply, giving a disaffected shrug and shoving his hands in his pockets as he took off at a slow stroll. Eagerness, he’d learned, was the single largest turn-off for this kind of man. It had to seem like it was all their idea, like they were corrupting him. It was a part of the game Eggsy liked to play too. He used them just as much as they used him, cramped in the back of cars or exposed in dank alleyways, cold pavement beneath his knees.

 

Harry was just Eggsy’s type. The first time he clapped eyes on his rescuer, he expected a very different set of circumstances and conditions to present themselves.He would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t surprised that his favour came through. He had known it was a long shot, but in the face of eighteen months at Pentonville, he was willing to try just about anything. He squinted in the midday sun outside the police station, wondering who exactly had been on the other end of that phone line.

“Eggsy. Would you like a lift home?” Eggsy whirled round, startled, and caught sight of an older gentleman in a dark, fitted suit and square glasses. He looked to be in his early fifties, his brown hair just beginning to show touches of grey where it met his brow.

“Who’re you?” Eggsy demanded, wary that this man knew his name. He never used his name when he got picked up, which to his mind was the only reason a man like this would think they had any business talking to one another.

“The man who got you released,” the stranger replied. Eggsy rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to play today.

“That ain’t an answer,” he snapped back, missing the unique brand of chav-infused charm that usually permeated these kinds of interactions.

“My name is Harry Hart,” the stranger relented, “I gave you that medal.”

 

Eggsy flirted shamelessly with Harry over pints at the Black Prince. He couldn’t understand the older man’s need to keep up the pretence that there was anything going on here that _wasn’t_ untoward. They both knew that in a matter of minutes they’d be outside in the alley getting all kinds of dirt and wrinkles all over that nice suit of his. Yet he kept talking. For just another posh trick, Harry had an awful lot to say about Eggsy’s father. Not to mention what could only have been a prepared lecture about wasted potential and accountability. He was prepared to write the whole thing off and go home when Dean’s lanky right-hand man came swaggering through the front door, his crew forming a loose flank on either side. _Great_ , Eggsy thought, _now we’re about to have a stabbing_. He could picture the headline. Eggsy tried to convince Harry to get out while he could, walk out the door and forget about it, but upon seeing Harry in action dispatching one after another of his stunned opponents, he had to concede that maybe Harry’d had the better plan. He stared, open-mouthed as the man sat back down across from him, uttering a clipped apology as though he’d simply knocked a coaster off the table. Suddenly, Eggsy was disappointed that Harry didn’t seem to want to fuck him today.

 

Harry was magnetic. There was a quiet confidence about him that none of Eggsy’s other men had possessed. Not that Harry was one of Eggsy’s men. Not yet anyway. They had been furtive, desperate and above all ashamed. He usually felt pity for them, wondering how a man’s opinion of himself could be so completely dependent on what others thought of him. Then he met the other candidates, saw them look down their noses at him, and he began to understand. No one could ever convince Eggsy to apologize for where he came from, for never having been given a “silver suppository” as Harry had so eloquently put it that day back at the pub, but he was concerned his closeness to his superior would lead to problems for them both. And they had undeniably grown close these last several weeks. Harry would invite him and JB on walks of the grounds, call him to the drawing room for a nightcap and a game of chess. On more than one occasion the senior agent had given him first aid, cupping his protégé’s face gently as he applied gauze and bandages. Harry didn’t treat him any differently in front of the other prospects, or even Arthur or Merlin, but Eggsy couldn’t help but worry he was going to end up getting sent home to his mum in an olive-coloured body bag.

 

“Do other agents spend this much time with their prospects?” He asked, sitting in a plush armchair in one of the mansion’s many parlours. Harry was across the room pouring two cups of tea. 

“Not typically,” he answered, placing a cup and saucer on the small table to Eggsy’s right.

“Why’d you ask me here then?” Harry sat down heavily in the chair next to Eggsy’s. He took a long sip from his cup before replying,

“I’ve got an assignment,” he said, nonchalantly, “I leave tomorrow morning, which means Merlin will be delivering your assessment this week.” Eggsy couldn’t help but laugh,

“Is that it?” He demanded with a snort. Harry shook his head, his mouth crooked into a wry grin,

“I, unlike many of my colleagues,” he said, “happen to also enjoy the company of my chosen candidate.” Eggsy told himself he’d cut the ear off of anyone who suggested that he was blushing in that moment.

 

JB was supposed to be the loyal puppy in this equation, not Eggsy, yet they both found themselves sitting at Harry’s bedside every day as he recovered from his compromised mission. Merlin gave him a wide berth, shooting him meaningful looks every time he entered the room, but otherwise saying nothing. Roxy tried a little harder, sitting him down a few times after drills, her face stern.

“Eggsy, you can’t let this affect you,” she said, adamantly, “I know how much you care about him, but Galahad wouldn’t want you going home over this.” Eggsy nodded, his gaze challenging, his mouth curved into a defensive smirk,

“Thanks, Rox,” he replied, sarcastically, getting to his feet and heading toward the door, “but fuck off.” Silently he cursed himself for not being able to come up with anything wittier. JB trotted at his heels as he walked briskly toward the recovery room. Roxy and her feminine intuition or telepathy or whatever had really gotten to him. How could she know how much he cared? God he hoped she didn’t know how much he cared. Harry and Merlin seemed like pretty progressive guys, but Eggsy couldn’t help but think that the Kingsman organization frowned on fraternization or dalliance, gross indecency, whatever it was that he and Harry had been dancing dangerously close to. Suddenly he was outside Harry’s room, surprised at how far he had let his mind wander. He pushed open the door and was astonished to see his mentor’s eyes open, his face alert. Eggsy gaped.

“Hello Eggsy,” Harry croaked, though his tone gave no impression of anything out of the ordinary.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Eggsy exhaled, instantly at the other man’s side, “how d’you feel?” Harry shot him a sidelong glance, one eyebrow cocked in a look of patronizing disbelief. Eggsy just laughed, relief flooding over him. It took him a long time to realize he was clutching Harry’s hand. He quickly withdrew, leaning back into a plastic chair.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, suddenly. Eggsy had been staring.

“I should be asking you that,” he said, “it’s just good to have you back.” Harry smiled in earnest this time,

“I daresay it’s good to be back.” Harry suddenly looked very tired.

“I think you should rest, Harry.” Eggsy said. Harry nodded as far as his neck brace would let him.

“Sound advice,” he murmured. Eggsy made to get up, but Harry’s hand on his wrist stopped him, “Stay a while, won’t you?” Eggsy nodded and settled back in, taking Harry’s hand in his again, rubbing his thumb back and forth across his skin until the older man’s eyes dropped closed again.

 

Twenty-four hours felt to Eggsy like an ultimatum. This was now or never time, he thought as they turned onto Harry’s street. If he didn’t pass the final test, if Roxy was chosen over him as the new Lancelot, this could be the last opportunity he ever had to see Harry. For all he knew, they would kill him or erase his memory if he failed. God, what would happen to Roxy if he passed? He tried to think of something else. Harry brought him upstairs and showed him his collection of Sun headlines. On the surface it seemed a very un-Harry thing to do, meticulously crafting a monument to the ingratitude of the British people, but it wasn’t that, as he explained. If any of what Harry did - what any of them did - made the papers it was because they had failed. This was instead a monument to Galahad which, though perhaps pompous, was very much in keeping with Harry’s aversion to shame.

 

Harry showed him how to mix a martini, watching every motion and step closely. They clinked glasses and Harry sat down on one end of a long sofa. Eggsy sat down right next to him, pointedly keeping his feet on the floor and leaning on his elbows. 

“While I won’t deny this is an excellent sofa,” Harry said placing his glass on the coffee table and turning to regard Eggsy with weary incredulity, “there are a number of other fine furnishings in this room that you are welcome to utilize.” Eggsy’s face became serious,

“What’ll happen if I don’t get picked as Lancelot?” He asked, a note of solemnity in his voice. Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised at the boy’s sudden earnestness.

“We won’t have to kill you, if that’s what you’re asking. You’ll be sent home like Charlie and the others.” Eggsy nodded,

“And you? Will I ever see you again?” Harry let out a long sigh, pondering the question for a long moment.

“It’s not an easy thing to be friends with a Kingsman,” he said, finally, “we don’t get a lot of free time.” Eggsy nodded and looked down at his shoes, jaw tight, breathing shallow. He knew what he wanted, he’d wanted it for months now. Somehow, looking Harry in the face again had become more terrifying than being in freefall thinking he had no parachute.

“Well then,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t actually quaking, “it’s a good thing I don’t wanna be friends.” Harry was apparently ready for him, kissing back seemingly before Eggsy had even brought their mouths together. Eggsy kept his mouth closed, as always waiting for his partner to take the initiative. Harry, however, was taking it excruciatingly slowly. He hadn’t even moved his hands, for God’s sake, they were still resting patiently at his sides. Eggsy, fed up, ran his tongue across Harry’s lower lip and soon found himself clambering on top of the other man, breathing in the smell of his rough cologne and licking up the taste of gin from his tongue. He was surprised when this seemed to spur Harry on, Eggsy’s fervent enjoyment seeming to enhance the experience for him as well. The younger man began fumbling with their belts, trying not to break away from his mouth.

“Let me,” Harry breathed, deftly undoing them both and unzipping Eggsy’s jeans. Eggsy began to reach for Harry’s own trousers, but his hand was stayed, “I said let me.” Eggsy gasped and bit back a moan as a hand pushed aside the waistband of his briefs. Harry seemed to take this as a challenge. He pulled the boy close, talking softly as he touched him,

“Good,” he said when Eggsy couldn’t contain his voice any longer, “very good, Eggsy.”

“Fuck, Harry,” the sounds burst from his throat. Harry smiled, pressing a few light kisses to the hollow of his throat.

“Yes, that’s it, that’s perfect. Let me hear you.” Eggsy let out a long moan, spending over Harry’s curled fist. He fell onto Harry’s chest. His entire body was tense, his breathing ragged. Harry ran his fingers through Eggsy’s hair, still murmuring into his ear,

“Good boy,” he said. Eggsy nearly went to pieces. He couldn’t remember ever having been treated with such tenderness. 

“I love you,” Eggsy whispered against the fabric of Harry’s sweater, “God dammit, I love you, Harry. I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Sounds good to me.”

 

Eggsy watched helplessly as Harry lost himself inside the church, lost all control, compelled to destroy without thought or reason. He felt sick, his eyes frozen on the carnage, unable to stop it or even look away. When it was over, Harry limped into the sunlight to find himself face to face with Valentine’s guns. _No_ , thought Eggsy. His whole brain filled with the word, screaming itself over and over inside his head until he saw Valentine turn his head and pull the trigger. Blood splattered on the lenses of Harry’s glasses and Eggsy’s voice filled the room, tearing from his throat in a single, desperate yet impotent cry. 

“I’d rather be with Harry,” he said later to Arthur, staring down a glass of poisoned brandy. For a moment he had considered going through with it, drinking the glass he was given and essentially ending the world, but Harry had said limits had to be tested. Eggsy knew he could die, anyone could die. He wondered if maybe he might try saving the world instead.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cripes, this was not supposed to be so...angsty? The movie was a comedy fer cryin' out loud!


End file.
